


Losing Time

by Stasia



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction, Dark!Thorin, Drugs, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Rape, Sex Slavery, drugged into mindlessness, non-con, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stasia/pseuds/Stasia
Summary: Bilbo is losing time. He's not sure how it's happening, but he knows that it is. He just wishes he could figure out what's going on.***THIS IS NON-CONSENSUAL. DON'T READ THIS IF YOU'RE NOT READY FOR NON-CON.This idea kept bugging me - what if Thorin doesn't ever get better? What if Thorin remains possessive and gold-mad but survives the Battle of Five Armies? What if he returns Erebor to 'greatness', but also to ancient, hidden, dark practices, ones in which Kings have absolute control over their subjects' lives? What if most of the time, for most Ereboreans, this isn't a big deal, but for one little Hobbit, it will cost him all autonomy and, eventually, his mind?What if most Ereboreans are okay with this?





	Losing Time

**Author's Note:**

> AGAIN, THIS IS TRUE NON-CONSENSUAL SEX HERE. RAPE, TO PUT IT LESS MILDLY. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.
> 
> I have enabled moderated comments for this fic.

Bilbo was losing time. He wasn’t sure exactly where it was happening, or when, but he was definitely losing time somewhere.

He looked around the cozy room he’d been granted in the back of the library. Book-filled shelves lined two of the walls, and his desk faced a third. The fourth held the doorway, which was an elaborately carved arch ‘closed’ with a heavy, richly embroidered tapestry. In the corner between the two walls of books sat a low table with comfortably upholstered chairs drawn up to it.

He’d been here every day for the past month, he was sure of that, and he was positive he remembered the last page he’d been working on in his translation of _The Gardens of Khazad Dum_ from Quenya to Westron, but that book lay open on the desk in front of him now, five more pages translated than he expected. 

And in his own handwriting, as well.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, feeling slightly shaky. This was the first real evidence he had; he’d experienced several oddities before – once he’d thought it was early Thrimidge, as the buds were just opening in the flower fields on Erebor’s slopes, but when he went out a week later, it was clearly late in the month of Lithe, as all the spring flowers were gone. He didn’t think he could have lost track of time that thoroughly; he occasionally got distracted by a difficult translation, but he’d never been so distracted that he lost a whole month.

He ran a hand over the mysteriously translated pages and bent his head to read the next untranslated page. Some time later, a gentle knock at the door arch brought him from his work. A little page stood at the door, carrying a tray with plates of food and a decanter of red wine. 

“Oh,” Bilbo said. “Thank you, I—” He bit his lip as he remembered Thorin’s reaction the last time he said he wasn’t hungry. “Why don’t you just set that down on the little table there?” 

The page set the tray down, then backed out of the room. He’d never looked up at Bilbo.

Bilbo sighed and sat down to look at the food. Warm slices of roast pork nestled on a soft pillow of what smelled like onion and garlic mashed potatoes, with a pile of sautéed summer squash spilling luxuriously across the rest of the plate. Bilbo took several bites of the food, then poured himself a glass of the red wine. 

He lifted it to his mouth, then stilled as something in the scent caught his attention. For one long moment, he felt a mixture of cold fear and disconcertingly powerful physical arousal. 

“Don’t be silly,” he said to himself, and tipped the glass to his lips.

***

Bilbo rolled over and rubbed his head. Where was he? He blinked several times, trying to clear his eyes, but his vision remained slightly blurry. He struggled to sit up, feeling odd pinches as he moved.

His hands were covered in gold rings, he saw; the rings were connected with fine chains to wide wristbands, also gold. The way the warm firelight reflected off the gems decorating the bands was fascinating, and he watched the colored flashes and gleams, moving his arms gently to make the lights shift. 

Wait. Where was he? Bilbo looked around the room, but didn’t recognize the parts of it he could see. It was clearly someone’s bedchamber, but not his. His never had such opulent wall-hangings, nor was his fireplace so big and… He blinked into the fire, caught in the dazzling flashes of color from the heavily gemmed fire-guard. The lights slid across the walls, changing shape and color as they passed over the various paintings and bas-relief sculptures.

Bilbo tried to focus on the art, but his vision was still too blurry. What had he been drinking last night? He worked to remember, but nothing felt familiar. He’d been at the library? No, he wouldn’t have been drinking there. Had he been at one of the many banquets His Majesty, King Thorin, Great Lord of Erebor, Emperor of the Northern Reaches had decreed were mandatory? No, those were only on feast days and the next was… the next was… not until mid-summer. 

It certainly wasn’t mid-summer yet. Bilbo was sure of that. 

Where was he? Bilbo tried to slide to the edge of the massive bed, but struggled with the heavy coverlet and bedclothes. They were richly embroidered, and the colors flickered in the warm firelight. He bent the cloth back and forth and watched the iridescence of the embroidery threads. 

There was a soft sound and Bilbo looked up, startled. Where was he? 

The room was well lit, with a fireplace in one wall easily big enough to roast a whole boar. Bilbo shoved and worked and finally his legs dangled over the edge of the bed. It was higher than he expected, and for one moment he quailed, but, with a rush of courage, he slid down onto the floor.

His body ached in strange and unexpected ways. In unexpected places as well. He twisted as far as he was able, but his hips and shoulders wouldn’t allow much movement. He looked down, to see if he could see bruises, but his foot-hair caught his attention. There were beads braided into his foot-hair! Gold beads, and glittering mithril ones, all connected by fine gold chains to heavier chain anklets. 

Bilbo shook one of his feet and it chimed softly. Bells. Why would he be wearing bells? He looked around, confused. 

Where was he? The room was beautiful, filled with treasures and rare things, all exquisite and delicate. At one side of the fireplace stood a sofa just big enough for two, but deeper than usual. It had high arms and thick velvet upholstery in a deep maroon that reminded Bilbo of something he used to own. His waistcoat? A jacket? This velvet was much softer than any he’d touched before, and the whoever had dyed it was creative, as well. The color was much deeper at the base of the pile, so it almost looked like a beautiful animal’s pelt as Bilbo stroked back and forth, watching the way the plush changed color in the light. 

His fingers caught his eye again and he focused on the rings. There was one on each finger and he turned his hand over to look at the chains. Each ring had a minuscule diamond on it, so it looked like his hands were caught in sunlit water spray. He moved his hand in the light and saw that he was in a large room he didn’t recognize.

Where was he? There was a table with two chairs at the far side of the room and Bilbo realized he was thirsty. How odd, to be thirsty but not hungry. No matter; he could see a crystal decanter on the table, half-filled with a dark red wine. One of the matching goblets had a skim of the same wine at the bottom, but the other was clean and dry. 

Bilbo was nearly at the table when something held his right foot back. He stumbled and nearly fell, his bells jangling at the sharp movement. There was a chain, he saw. A long chain connecting from the anklet to one of the legs of the bed. Bilbo tugged at his foot, but he’d reached the end of the chain. Why would he be chained to the bed? 

The soft sound came again and he identified it as a deep voice, speaking quietly somewhere outside the room. He looked at the room, feeling dizzy and marveling at the beauty of the furnishings. Whose room was this? What was he doing here?

Where was he? He turned and saw a table with a decanter of wine on it. He was so thirsty, so he started to walk to the table, and jolted when his leg wouldn’t move forward. It was connected to the bed by a chain, he saw. The chain glimmered in the firelight and he watched the bright flashes of reflected light catch on edges and points in the sculptures on the walls. 

The voice suddenly shouted and Bilbo jumped. Would he be in trouble for being here? He should hide. If he hid, then he could wait until it was safe to leave. He had a thing – there was something he had that would help him hide. His eyes searched the unfamiliar room, then fell to his hands. Right, it was a ring! He had a gold ring and it made him invisible. He looked at the many gold rings on his fingers, amazed at their beauty. Each was different; some were made to look like twists of flowers, wound around his fingers, others were wide bands of metal with multicolored gems set in them. 

He looked up from his rings and stared around the room. Where was he?

The sharp snickt sound of a door closing made him spin. Something pulled at his ankle and he stumbled. He looked to see what had caught at him and was amazed to see a long gold chain running from his ankle to the enormous bed across the room. 

“Ah, my pet,” rumbled a deep voice. “You woke early.”

Bilbo spun again and looked up into mesmerizing blue eyes. They were the startling blue of ice from the deep mountain lakes. Bilbo blinked several times - his vision was still not right – and stepped backward. He didn’t want to be here. This wasn’t where he was supposed to be. 

The stranger stepped forward, a smile flashing through his dark beard. “Bilbo,” he said. “Do not fear.”

“Who… where am I?” Bilbo rubbed his hands down his sides, suddenly noticing the thin linen shift he wore. 

“You are in my private chamber.” He walked slowly toward Bilbo. “I hope you were comfortable when you woke.” 

“I…” Bilbo was confused. Had he been comfortable when he woke up? When had he woken up? “I think so. Were you?”

The man laughed. He knelt down in front of Bilbo and took Bilbo’s chin in his hands, turning his head from side to side. 

“I was,” he said, his voice deep. Bilbo felt short of breath and gasped a little. This seemed to make the man happy, because he smiled again. “I was very comfortable, little pet.” His hands slid from Bilbo’s chin to his shoulders, then down his arms to his wrists, which he held behind Bilbo’s back. 

This forced Bilbo to stumble forward slightly; when his head bobbed forward, the man bit gently at the point of Bilbo’s left ear. Bilbo squeaked, surprised at the rush of pleasure that cascaded through his body. 

“Are you hungry?”

Bilbo trembled at the voice in his ear, so low. The hairs from the stranger’s beard rubbed Bilbo’s neck and he felt his skin shiver with arousal. How could he think about food when this man was doing these things to him? 

He tried to tip his head back, but the man had shifted so one of his hands held Bilbo’s wrists behind his back, and the other hand gripped Bilbo tightly around the back of his head. 

“I know you’re thirsty, little one,” he said. 

“Yes,” Bilbo moaned. His body was reacting without his control; the voice, the hands, the feeling of anything touching his skin made his brain fill with arousal and fog. He sagged forward, unsteady on his feet.

The man laughed and scooped him up, holding him so one of his large hands cupped Bilbo’s buttocks. Bilbo felt the warmth and strength through the terribly thin linen of his shift and he moaned again. 

“Who…” The fingers flexed against his ass cheeks and he lost his train of thought. He tried again. “Who are you?”

“I am Thorin.” His voice was deeper even than before; it seemed to Bilbo as if he felt these words inside himself rather than heard them with his ears. Something about this name frightened Bilbo, but he couldn’t think of why that might be.

Thorin set him down on the velvet sofa. He stood back, observing Bilbo, then took off his own heavy outer layers of clothing, dropping them carelessly on the floor. Bilbo watched, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down his thighs. 

“Stay there, pet,” Thorin said, pressing on the center of Bilbo’s chest with two fingers. “I will return shortly.” Bilbo watched him walk across the room, then his gaze drifted to the tapestries. They were beautiful; each shimmered in the warm firelight. Where was he?

A slightly unmusical clattering interrupted him and he turned sharply. A tall, bearded stranger had set a small tray on a nearby table. The tray held dishes with odds and ends that Bilbo recognized as expensive delicacies, and two tall decanters, one with white wine and one with deep red wine. 

The stranger poured a goblet of the red wine and sat down next to Bilbo. He slid one hand around the nape of Bilbo’s neck. Something about the heat of the hand against Bilbo’s skin made him gasp.

“You are so delightful,” the man said. His mouth was dark red against his black beard. He held the goblet to Bilbo’s lips and said, “Drink, my pet.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes up to look at the stranger’s, but then the wine hit his lips and his mouth sagged open. It was rich and fruity, with the strangest metallic tang underneath. He swallowed, trying to identify the flavor, but the word for it danced further and further out of reach. When he’d had nearly half the goblet, the man removed it from him. 

Bilbo licked his lips. They felt very wet and he tried to wipe his mouth, but found he couldn’t lift his hand. 

“Relax, little one,” the man said. His voice was deep and soothing. “Let the Udal fill you.” He set the goblet aside and began stroking Bilbo’s legs, first up one from toe-tips to mid-thigh, then down the other from mid-thigh to toes. 

Bilbo’s head sagged backward. Something strong caught it; he couldn’t tell what it was, but it was warm. He blinked his eyes open – when had they fallen closed? – and saw someone watching him. 

Bilbo felt his body get shifted around, but he couldn’t quite focus on any one thing; his thoughts kept drifting away into the sensations filling him. Something was pulled up and over his head and his nipples puckered slightly as it dragged over them. There were hands on him, hands everywhere, on his legs, tugging on his foot-hair, thumbs sliding firm and commanding up his inner thighs, stretching his legs apart and then pressing hard and exquisitely into the space behind his nuts. 

Bilbo moaned. He tried to move, to thrust into – or away from – the hands, but he couldn’t budge. All he could do was lie still. The surface under him was both rabbit-soft and slightly prickly, making him want to shift and squirm. He felt his prick rise and throb with every heavy beat of his heart. 

Bilbo rolled his eyes down as far as he could, trying to see what was happening, what was making him feel this way, so aroused, so inflamed. At his feet, between his wide-spread knees, a dark-haired man with icy eyes knelt; as Bilbo’s gaze caught his, he leaned forward and sucked Bilbo’s entire prick into his mouth and buried both his thumbs into Bilbo’s ass.

The combination of pleasure and pain made Bilbo’s vision go dark. The last thing he knew was his body convulsing in the strongest orgasm he could remember.

***

Thorin swallowed around Bilbo’s hammer, sucking and tugging until every last drop had been coaxed from the tight little gems just now under his chin. The sounds Bilbo made were exquisite; high-pitched squeals and moans, and not a word anywhere. 

He slowly lifted off Bilbo, making sure to keep his lips tight around his prick until the very tip, which he sucked hard, feeling his own hammer, already well excited, surge with the whine of pain from Bilbo. He tugged his thumbs apart gently, feeling the muscles of Bilbo’s ass stretch and resist. After a few minutes of movement, he pulled his hands out and rinsed them in a metal bowl at his side, drying them carefully on the linen shift he’d pulled off of Bilbo.

Bilbo was still panting and moaning on the sofa; his pale skin looked magnificent against the deep maroon of the velvet. Thorin reached out and tugged gently on the gold chain linking the rings he’d had put through Bilbo’s nipples. Bilbo’s eyes flew open and he cried out again.

Thorin ran a finger down Bilbo’s body from his collarbone to the top of his crisp curling hairs between his legs. His cock had softened, which was what Thorin wanted. He carefully settled a leather band around the base of it, snugging it tight. Then he wrapped the attached long leather cords around each of Bilbo’s balls, making sure they were separated both from each other and from his body. As he did, he watched Bilbo’s cock swelling. Before long, Thorin knew, it would be so full and tight that the skin would catch the light like glass, or diamonds. 

He stood, then, and removed the rest of his own clothes, making sure they weren’t between the fire and the bed. He’d been waiting for this for hours in that interminable meeting. There had been enough words. Now it was time for much more interesting sounds.

Thorin ate a handful of peacock tongues, and poured himself a glass of white wine before sitting down on the sofa next to Bilbo. If he didn’t know what Udal did, he’d think Bilbo asleep, but he knew that the drug was both causing Bilbo to be aroused and making everything dreamlike and unreal. As he plucked at Bilbo’s nipples, relishing each sound, Thorin wondered if Bilbo ever remembered anything from these times. 

He moved down from Bilbo’s nipples, now flushed and drawn into tight knots, over his inner thighs, to the soft skin behind his balls, now an attractive red. He dipped his fingers in oil and began rubbing there, and down to his ass, which was still a little relaxed from his previous attention. When he couldn’t stand waiting any more, he lifted Bilbo up and over his lap, centering Bilbo’s ass over his own hammer. 

He held Bilbo firmly under his arms, then shoved his hammer firmly up into Bilbo’s warm, tight channel. Bilbo screamed and twitched, but his cock swelled more. The skin on his prick was lovely and tight and Thorin watched it as he moved Bilbo’s body up and down, fucking himself into the heat of Bilbo’s body. Each time he was entirely inside Bilbo, Bilbo wailed, but his hammer grew bigger. 

Bilbo’s mouth hung open and his head bobbed back and forth loosely on his neck as Thorin pumped in and out of him. Bilbo’s pretty eyes were only half-open and Thorin admired the empty glassiness that filled them. Thorin’s thoughts drifted to the too-sharp questioning he’d had from Balin about his procurement of Udal and felt a surge of anger. Balin had no right to gainsay him.

No one could tell Thorin what to do. Not anymore. He ground his hammer deep into Bilbo’s compliant body and watched as Bilbo’s prick purpled with arousal. Bilbo whimpered and Thorin felt Bilbo’s anus flutter against his cock. Thorin lifted Bilbo up until he was nearly off Thorin’s cock entirely and admired the way Bilbo’s anus stretched to accommodate Thorin’s fully engorged size. The sight made the growing tension in his groin sharpen and he pounded as deep into Bilbo as he could, just in time to spill his seed into Bilbo’s body. 

When he’d recovered, he smiled to see how deeply his fingers had pressed into Bilbo’s soft arms. He might have to keep Bilbo asleep until the bruises faded. He withdrew from Bilbo, enjoying the way this made Bilbo cry out, then he lay Bilbo out on the bed and crouched over him. 

He slid three fingers into Bilbo’s now completely relaxed anus and pressed them up toward his prick. Bilbo shuddered and thrashed, but Thorin held him down without effort. After a moment, Thorin took the tab of the leather band he’d tied around Bilbo’s cock and balls and tugged it loose; as soon as it was removed, he pulled Bilbo’s shiny purple cock deep into his mouth and sucked as hard as he could.

Bilbo screamed at the top of his lungs, but his cock stiffened and pulsed in Thorin’s mouth, releasing his own load of ejaculate. Thorin swallowed all of it, sucking firmly until Bilbo’s voice sounded hoarse and sore.

When Thorin sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Bilbo was completely inert, his rough breathing the only sign he was still alive. Thorin gently tugged a silk sheet over him and stroked his hair.

“Sleep well, my little pet,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I think there'll be about 3-5 chapters of this, all told. It never gets 'better', there's no kissing-and-making-up possible from this.
> 
> Plus, the drug is cumulative and addictive, so there's just no way out for poor Bilbo.


End file.
